


A shot in the dark

by purple_cube



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m here to hit on you,” he says with a helpless shrug of his shoulders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A shot in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV, using the prompts 'masks' and 'observation'.

 

“It’s fine. I’m not a likeable person.”  
  
It’s a throwaway comment, and one that she doesn’t even realize that he’s heard, until she turns to see him watching her intensely.  
  
Pepper doesn’t seem to notice, already reeling off a list of people that will claim to like Natasha Romanoff. She listens half-heartedly, her attention fixed on Bruce sat at the other end of Stark’s lounge.  
  
Later, when Pepper half-pushes and half-drags Tony to bed, Bruce politely calls goodnight to their retreating bodies before approaching and taking a seat on the couch next to her.  
  
“The Other Guy likes you, you know,” he tells her quietly. His hands are clasped together between his knees, making her think he might be a little nervous. But he still holds that intense gaze, the one that dares her to lean closer and explore the multitude of emotions that are held in those deep brown eyes.  
  
The corners of her mouth curl in amusement. “Is this your idea of hitting on me, Dr. Banner?”  
  
Those same eyes widen in surprise – and maybe a little horror. “No, I, um…no.”  
  
The mirth doesn’t leave her expression as she rises from her seat. “That’s a shame,” she says casually as she departs.  
  
*  
  
It’s another week before she sees him again at Stark Tower. A week that involves two assignments, three marks but only a relatively small amount of combat. Stark delivers a wolf-whistle when the elevator doors open to reveal her still wearing the black cocktail dress and red heels that her mark had been so excited to see.  
  
“I’ve come straight from a job,” she mutters as she heads straight for the bar in the corner. Pouring herself a drink, she can see Bruce approach from the corner of her eye. It isn’t until he settles his glass on the counter, inviting her to pour into it, that she looks at him.  
  
“Rough day at work?” he asks casually.  
  
“Something like that.” She downs her drink before swiftly pouring herself another.  
  
He starts to turn, his attention fixed on the glass in his hand. But at the final moment, he turns back. “I like your shoes,” he says simply, before returning to the others.  
  
Natasha leaves without addressing anyone else, heading straight for the room that Pepper said is available for her any time she needs it.  
  
*  
  
She’s not sure when it began, but now she can’t seem to stop watching him watch her. When he goes on an assignment to Peru for two weeks, she feels lonely, missing the heat of his gaze.  
  
And when he returns, she gives him a smile so wide that he does a double-take. She barely contains her laughter, shaking her head at Clint’s enquiring gaze.  
  
They don’t speak directly to each other, but his eyes seem to pull hers into his direction at every opportunity.  
  
*  
  
She makes an effort for Pepper’s little dinner party, even plastering a smile on her face when Stark insists on a group photo. Clint knows her well enough to understand when she is weary, but the others don’t, and she finds herself making her excuses to retire to her room early.  
  
She’s there for less than a minute when she hears the knock.  
  
The door slides open a moment later, revealing Bruce leaning against the frame in a manner that would seem staged if it were anyone else but him.  
  
He edges forward when she tells him to come in, barely inside the room when the door slides shut again.  
  
“I’m here to hit on you,” he says with a helpless shrug of his shoulders.  
  
She laughs, but not cruelly, and after a moment he joins in. “What made you change your mind?”  
  
He seems confused for a moment. “I haven’t changed my mind, as such. Just needed a push in the right direction.”  
  
“And what was that push?”  
  
“Your politeness during dinner.”  
  
“My…politeness?”  
  
A puff of laughter escapes before he shrugs again. “Maybe that’s the wrong word. It was more like indifference.”  
  
She tilts her head a fraction, inviting him to elaborate. He doesn’t hesitate, and it takes her a moment to register that they are familiar enough with each other now to be able to understand these little cues.  
  
“The others, they wear their hearts on their sleeves. But you, you wear this mask that you so rarely let slip. Nothing fazes you, sure, but nothing seems to excite or amuse or please you either when you’re wearing that mask. And lately, it seems like I’ve been seeing more and more of who you really are.”  
  
He pauses for what seems like an eternity. Finally, he looks at her again. “And I like it,” he finishes.  
  
They stand a couple of feet apart, gazing at each other as they have done so often recently, but with a new intensity.  
  
“So you’re here to hit on me,” she muses out loud. “And how do you expect this to end?”  
  
He chuckles nervously. “Well, hopefully not with me dangling out of your window. Or tied naked to the letter ‘A’ on the outside of the Tower. Or, well, a million other things that I haven’t even thought of, but am sure a trained assassin such as yourself is capable of punishing me with.”  
  
“Okay. So those are the worst-case scenarios. What’s the best-case scenario?”  
  
He steps closer then, though still not within touching distance. “I get to know the real you.”  
  
Now it’s her turn to inch closer. “And how do you expect to do that?”  
  
He closes the gap between them quickly, and she expects to find his mouth crashing onto hers. But instead, he places his palm on her cheek before pressing his lips to hers in an almost chaste kiss. He pulls back, searching her expression. He must find what he’s looking for, because he kisses her again, deeply this time. She sinks into him, reaching around to pull his body to hers.  
  
When they finally pull away, the heat that pools within her is different to the kind that she’s used to. The intensity is subtle, yet strong, the tiny blue fraction of the flame rather than the vast yellow that so often takes her.  
  
“Turn around.”  
  
She does so, feeling his fingertips reaching for the fastening to her dress. He unzips her, placing soft kisses on the back of her neck as he does so. She’s about to step out of her red stilettos, but he asks her, almost shyly, to keep them on.  
  
She laughs. “Fantasy of yours, Banner?”  
  
“It’s Bruce,” he says quietly – but defiantly. “You can call the others whatever you want, but I want you to call me Bruce. Especially in here.”  
  
“Bruce,” she murmurs, rolling the name over her lips to test it out.  
  
“Sit,” he orders, and she thinks that maybe there’s a _third_ guy inside of him, one that lives somewhere in between the mild-mannered Bruce Banner and the monstrous Hulk. She thinks that she may like this third guy best of all.  
  
He waits for her to settle before dropping to his knees in front of her. Her knees part in anticipation, and he doesn’t disappoint, reaching straight for her with his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers. He lightly kisses her first, then licks between her labia, then sucks her clitoris. She bucks at the last action, and barely catches his grin before he goes through the sequence again. Kiss, lick, suck. Over and over again, until she can’t take anymore and grabs the back of his head.  
  
He seems to anticipate her movement, because he doesn’t give her a chance to yank his mouth away, choosing that moment to push a finger inside of her. The distraction is enough for him to continue his routine, and when she bucks again, he adds a second finger. And then a third, as he switches to only licking and sucking, at a pace that’s too much and not enough all at the same time.  
  
She comes with a sharp cry, one hand digging into his hair and the other clutching the side of the chair so tightly it hurts. He switches back to kissing as she descends from her high, before licking at his now freed fingers.  
  
“May I?” he asks quietly, gesturing at the chair.  
  
She smiles, rising. “You may.”  
  
He barely has time to sit before she mounts his lap, and they both laugh a little at their eagerness. She unzips him, smiling when his hand slips into a pocket and reappears with a condom between his fingers. She pulls out his erection, grinning at the hiss that escapes his lips. He watches intently as she opens the packet and slides the condom onto him. She guides him into her, watching his mouth widen as she sinks to the hilt. As she slowly lifts her hips, their eyes meet again.  
  
He thrusts up and into her, and she moans her appreciation as her eyelids lower.  
  
He stills immediately. “No.”  
  
Her eyes snap up to look at him in surprise.  
  
“Don’t put on the mask. Don’t play a character. Not with me.”  
  
“I hadn’t realized I was,” she says quietly.  
  
“I think you were about to,” he says more gently, almost apologetic. “Just me and you, Natasha. Nobody else.”  
  
She doesn’t respond with words, merely rolling her hips and reveling in the feeling of his dick moving inside her. He gasps, nodding his head in appreciation.  
  
They each experiment, grinding and surging into and against each other, the room all but silent except for their quiet breaths and the sound of flesh sliding against flesh. Eventually, they settle on a rhythm, with his upward thrusts meeting her downward bounce and enabling her body to take him as deeply as possible.  
  
He reaches down to settle one hand at the point where their bodies meet, clasping her swollen mound between two fingertips and rubbing in a circular motion. She gasps, breath caught in her throat, and the sound is enough to spur him on. She grinds harder and faster, knowing that he won’t be able to keep up. She’s pleased though, when instead of remaining motionless, he chooses to concentrate his efforts on making her come. His fingers press more urgently on her clit, his mouth moves to her breast and his other hand digs into her thigh so sharply that she knows there’ll be a bruise to greet her in the morning. He bites down on her nipple, and it’s enough to take her over the edge, the air catching in her lungs as she climaxes. Dimly, she becomes aware of his head rising from her chest and his eyes on her, a look of fascination fixed within them.  
  
But then the final pulses of her orgasm overlap with the beginning of his, and he comes with a groan that sounds part him, part Hulk, eyes screwed so tightly shut that she’ll never know for sure. When he finally does open them, he gives her a lazy yet happy smile.  
  
“That was nice,” he murmurs.  
  
“ _Nice_?”  
  
He chuckles at her mock-indignation. “Yes. Nice. Even Natasha Romanoff must like the idea of ‘nice’ once in a while.”  
  
She thinks about it for a moment. And then she looks at him, taking in the hope and the good that jostle for position amongst the dread and the disillusionment that are permanent fixtures in his expression.  
  
Slowly, she nods. “I think I might like ‘nice'.”

 


End file.
